


A Reason To Fear

by loves_books



Series: Halloween In Oxford [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Lewis Frightfest 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 05:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5117927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You aren’t looking for anyone to take home with you, not on this particular night, but the moment you see them, you know they have to be yours. And it’s been so long since you allowed yourself a treat. You’ve been so good, recently, that you truly deserve this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reason To Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to the wonderful Owlbsurfinbird for being my beta reader, and for sticking with this particular story!
> 
> Please note that I've chosen not to use archive warnings for this - please see notes at the end if you would like some spoilery warnings, or read on at your own risk.

You aren’t looking for anyone to take home with you, not on this particular night, but the moment you see them, you know they have to be yours. Two such fine specimens as these, why, they are practically begging for your tender attentions.

And it’s been so long since you allowed yourself a treat. You’ve been so good, recently, that you truly deserve this.

You step back deeper into the bushes as the two men approach, crouching low, allowing yourself the time to simply observe. Teasing yourself with the anticipation of what fun lies ahead. 

They really are two fine examples of male perfection, you muse, as they walk closer along the river path. One tall, slender, his shining head of blond hair reflecting the last of the sun as it sinks slowly over the horizon. The other is shorter, older, with darker hair that stirs ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. 

They walk shoulder to shoulder, talking quietly and familiarly, though you are just too far away to hear their words. The taller shortens his stride with practised ease so they walk in perfect step with each other, and you wonder fleetingly at how long they must have been acquainted for that to become so natural. A perfect partnership, clearly.

Both of them wear suits, the younger in black and the older in grey, with sharply polished shoes. Office workers, perhaps, though there is an air of authority about both of them which suggests not. Salesmen, maybe, or perhaps even plain-clothed police officers. Completely unimportant and irrelevant, of course, though you always enjoy trying to work out the details.

The taller one is truly a creature of beauty, and you stare at his face as the two men grow closer still. A long face, perhaps not classically beautiful, but handsome most certainly. You can’t quite make out what colour his eyes are, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll have plenty of time to examine them later, once you cut them carefully free.

Not much meat on him, though, that younger man. Very tall and very skinny, and in need of a good meal, but at the same time you can see he is strong, with lean muscles wrapped around a solid skeleton. A good, strong heart, no doubt, with rich, thick blood. He’ll struggle beautifully, you can just tell.

Even in the dying autumn sun, the man is obviously tanned, though it’s the kind of light tan that promises acres of pale, unblemished skin hiding beneath the surface of that perfectly tailored suit, just begging for the kiss of your knife. You clench your hands into fists to stop your fingers twitching for the scalpel you wish you’d brought, already imagining that gush of bright red blood over whiter than white skin when you first slice him delicately open.

He’ll have to be first, there’s no question in your mind. Your eyes flit across to the older man, surprised by how brightly his blue eyes are shining even in the dusk, and you consider his contrasting build. More meat on this one, most definitely, and he’ll last a lot longer than his younger, skinnier companion. 

You can make him watch, you decide with a smile. Or just listen, perhaps, if you blindfold him for a time. Enough meat on his bones to last a good week or two without food, surely, as long as you give him a little water every now and then. He can watch as you take your time with the taller one.

Your gaze is drawn back to the man in question as he laughs softly at something the older man says. There is something regal about him, you realise, something in the way he holds himself, so tall and so proud. You can just picture him laid out on your table, those long arms and legs chained down while you work. You wonder if he believes in a higher power; you can see him as a priest, for some reason. Or, better still, there is also something that strikes you as almost Christ-like in the way he moves. 

It’s been a long, long while since you’ve crucified anyone.

You lick your lips in anticipation of the sound as you drive the nails through his palms and his wrists. You can almost hear his screams as you let him hang there, bleeding, but you also know you’ll have to take great care not to let things end too quickly. He’s a skinny thing, and if you aren’t very careful he’ll bleed out far too fast. No fun in that, for him or for you.

But if you are careful, you can see exactly what lies under that pale, perfect skin of his. You always enjoy that, though you rarely have the time or patience to indulge. Crucify him first, then lay him flat, arms still pinned out wide like a butterfly, before picking up your scalpel once again. You can peel back the layers of his skin and muscles, slowly, painstakingly, to reveal his narrow ribcage. You can pull his ribs apart delicately to peer at his still-beating heart. You’ve done it before, and if you do it all perfectly, he’ll still be conscious as you stare into the cavity of his chest.

Just like staring into the face of God.

You can feel your own heart beating faster in anticipation of the pretty sight he’ll make. You can hardly wait to get started now, especially knowing exactly how it will end for him. That one particular treat you crave so desperately.

It’s been so long.

And the other man, the older man, will be watching you both the entire time, while you carry out your delicate yet skilful work. He might even learn something, if you explain your actions as you go along. He’s a handsome one, too, you think to yourself as you let your eyes rake down his sturdy body and back up again. Yes, he’s older, and yes, there is more meat on his bones, but he is still a very attractive man. 

The meat is obviously muscle just starting to go to fat, and he will struggle too. You’ll have a fight on your hands, getting both of them back home with you, but you aren’t worried. You’re far stronger than you look.

He has a bit of a belly, this older man, his white shirt fitted a little too tightly across his abdomen, and you lick your lips again, already salivating. A little bit of tenderising, though he probably won’t need too much work, and the meat will roast perfectly. Just the right amount of fat running through the muscle, you can tell, enough to make it juicy and succulent. 

It’s been a very long time since you’ve had a properly cooked steak, after all.

He’ll struggle beautifully as well, and he’ll probably struggle for longer. You’ll have to use the heavier chains with him, and you wonder briefly where you put the larger shackles after the last time you took someone home. The ones you have to weld shut. Something tells you that the older man won’t just sit quietly and watch as you take your time examining his younger friend. You might even have to gag him eventually, though that’ll be a last resort. You like hearing them beg. Almost as much as you like hearing them scream.

They are almost level with you now, and you can’t help but wonder. Two handsome men in smart suits, out for an evening stroll by the river, walking closely side by side and talking, laughing, joking. It would be almost too much to hope for, if they were more than just friends. You haven’t taken a real couple home with you for years. 

And then, as if reading your thoughts, the older man takes his younger companion’s hand and tugs him gently to a stop, only a metre or two away from where you are crouched. He murmurs something to the taller man, though frustratingly the wind carries his words away, before stepping closer as the other bends down with a smile.

They kiss, right there in front of you, holding hands tightly. It’s a deep, passionate kiss, and you have to resist the urge to clap your hands in glee. How absolutely perfect.

They’ll each fight to save the other, rather than just fighting to stay alive themselves. That makes things so much more interesting, even if it doesn’t change your ultimate plans. The older man will still watch when you finally slit his lover’s throat, catching the rich red blood as it pours from the broken body. And by then he will know exactly what you intend to do – slow roasting on a spit is a painful way to go, perhaps, but at least he will have the comfort of knowing that you intend to drink his lover’s perfectly chilled blood while you feast on his own perfectly cooked flesh. 

They will leave this world together, and in this cruel life what loving couple could ever ask for more than that?

You stand suddenly, pushing through the bushes and panting hard as if you’ve been running for your life. The two men spring apart, both suddenly alert and tense, and the younger reaches out to catch you as you fake a stumble into his waiting arms.

“Help me,” you gasp, though it takes all your strength not to smile at the delights promised by the nights and days ahead of you. “Oh please, help me. Thank goodness I found someone. Please, help.”

The older man steps closer now, and they are each holding one of your arms gently as you fake a sob. “There now, man,” he soothes, his Geordie accent somehow not what you had expected at all. “We’ve got you. Everything’ll be okay, we’re police officers. What’s happened?”

Police after all, then. Oh, now that really does seem perfect.

And you just smile. And strike.

**Author's Note:**

> This story focusses on a character (not one of our boys) who is planning his future acts of graphic violence in great detail, including thoughts of graphic torture, blood-drinking, cannibalism and murder. He’s only thinking about it all at this stage though.


End file.
